


Just Say When

by chutzpaz



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Desperation, Humiliation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Watersports, Wetting, there's no actual sex though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:18:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chutzpaz/pseuds/chutzpaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robb and Jon are sparring. They make a bet. In hindsight, it's not one of Jon's best decisions. Kink meme fill from <a href="http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/22142.html?thread=14229886#t14229886">here.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Say When

Jon is panting, hard, sweating through his thick clothing. Late summer snows are falling. It's harder to move. He takes a moment to regain his breath, then lunges at Robb, once, twice, steel ringing out against steel, until Robb manages to knock Jon's sword out of his hand, blunted blade pressing against his neck.

"Come, Snow," he chides, "you can do better than that."

Jon grins, picking up his sparring sword again. "I was going easy on you."

Robb barks out a laugh. "Then beat me. I'd like to see you try." With that, he thrusts his sword, but Jon is faster this time, and they clash, over and over and over. Robb is relentless, but Jon is determined to win. Even if it means ignoring the slight twinge in his bladder that he's just beginning to feel.

"This snow is becoming too thick," Robb complains between breaths.

"Nothing for a future brother of the Night's Watch," Jon says, stabbing at Robb.

Robb's eyes go wide in shock. "So you are planning on taking the black, then?" He pauses, just for a split second, but it's the opening that Jon needs. He stabs at Robb again, making him stumble backwards and fall.

He laughs, big and booming. "You got me," he says.

Jon tries to muffle his laughter as he presses the sword to Robb's throat and says in a deep voice, "Now your watch has ended."

Robb raises his arms in mock surrender. "I give," he says. Jon smiles, but it's short-lived, mouth opening in surprise when Robb grabs the sword and pulls it down hard, bringing Jon right along with it. He lands on top of Robb and Robb's knee goes straight into his gut. Even as he's laughing, his mind is slowly beginning to register that he really, really needs to piss. But Robb rolls him over, so he's on top and Jon's back is pressed into the snow.

"One more round?" Robb asks. His knee is still pressed dangerously against Jon's stomach, which makes him groan a little. But what's one more round going to do?

"Why not," Jon says, and with that, Robb springs up, ready to go again. He's got the stamina of the Mountain, that one. Any maybe the bladder, too. They've been out for hours and it's almost nightfall. Joffrey and Tommen have long since gone inside, and it's only the two of them, sparring behind the stables.

Jon grunts when he gets up, feeling the pressure in his bladder acutely. Robb gives him almost no time, immediately lunging forward. Jon barely manages to bring his sword up to defend against the swing. It takes great effort for him to continue, and he's beginning to think it might have been a mistake to continue fighting. The ache in his bladder is pronounced now. It's hard to concentrate.

"Gotta piss," Jon says.

"What was that?" Robb asks. He's clearly immersed in the fight, wiping sweat off his brow even as he continues to swing his sword.

"I need to piss," he repeats. "Don't know if-" he stops to dodge a swing, jerking his body violently to the right and almost throwing himself off balance "-this was a good idea," he finishes.

There's a devious glint in Robb's eyes, but it's gone almost before Jon can notice. "Don't tell me you're backing down."

That earns a swing so had it makes Robb stumble backwards. Jon fights with a renewed vigor. "Let it never be said that I backed down from a fight," he says.

Robb laughs. "No one's saying that."

Jon brings his sword up high, ready to swing it downwards but sure that Robb will counter. Instead, Robb, all quick wits and agile movement, dodges and thrusts his sword straight into Jon's bladder. He groans and steps back.

"Robb," he complains, lowering his sword.

Robb smiles cheekily, but pauses all the same. "I play to win, Snow. Remember that."

"You know I can't let you get away with such dirty play," Jon says.

"What makes you think you'll beat me?" Robb asks.

"Well, I did last time."

"True," Robb concedes. "How about we up the stakes?"

Jon looks at him questioningly, eyes narrowing. "What are you suggesting, Stark?"

"Simple. If you win, you piss." Jon nods. He doesn't know why. He can piss whenever he wants, but he wants the satisfaction of beating Robb before he does.

"And if you win?"

Robb gins. The devious glint is back. "If I win... you piss."

Jon raises an eyebrow. "But?"

"But I decide when."

Jon laughs. "When did you get so scheming? You're supposed to be honorable."

Robb only smiles. "So? Agreed?"

What the hell, Jon thinks. What's the worst that could happen? Robb would laugh at him, make him squirm a little, maybe make him converse with the lords and ladies of King's landing for a bit. It'd be like the time Theon had lost a bet and they'd made him wear Jeyne Pool's brassiere underneath his own clothing for an entire dinner. They'd laughed about it for weeks.

Either way, he'd get to piss, so it sounded good to him.

"I like a challenge," he says, and Robb grins, big and bright. He wastes no time swinging at Jon.

Jon dodges nimbly. They're well-matched, both youth and energy and lithe muscle, Robb with quick reflexes and Jon with strong swings. But this time, where Jon is slow and disoriented, concentrated on the protests of his bladder, Robb is brutal and determined to win. In no time, Robb manages to strike Jon. He staggers backwards. He's pinned against the wall, now. Not good. Not good at all.

Robb presses his sword against Jon's neck, and even though it's blunted and Jon could continue to fight, he must accept defeat. He drops his sword and raises his hands above his head, yielding.

"Alright, alright," he says. "Just tell me when I can piss already."

"Now," Robb says. He has a wicked grin on his face that makes Jon doubtful of what he means, exactly.

Jon narrows his eyes, unsure, and begins to lower his hands to unlace his breeches and free his cock. But Robb stops him, using the sword to push his hands back above his head and keep them there. They're pressed against the wall almost painfully.

"What?" Jon asks.

"You can piss now," Robb says.

Jon gets it. He just doesn't want to get it. _Gods,_ that's humiliating. More than anything. A blush creeps onto his face, as much as he wills it not to. Maybe it'll pass as natural rosiness from the cold or the fight.

Robb isn't fooled. He grins again and Jon doesn't like the look of that at all. "Come on, didn't you want to?" He brings up one knee and presses it hard against Jon's stomach, knowing _exactly_ what it's doing to him this time. Jon groans.

"Not like this," he says. It's almost a whimper.

"You don't have a choice," Robb says, and presses harder.

"Seven hells," Jon curses under his breath. He doesn't even believe in the Seven. It just seems apt for the situation.

Robb presses even harder and Jon groans again. He squeezes his eyes shut, clenching hard to try to stop the inevitable. Robb is clearly enjoying this- it's not only Robb's knee Jon feels pressed against his body, but something else, a bulge that is undeniably Robb's half hard cock. Jon groans for a different reason.

"Please," he whispers.

"What's that?"

"Come on, Robb. Anything but this," Jon pleads.

"Anything?" Robb lifts one eyebrow.

"Maybe not wearing a brassiere to a dinner feast," he concedes.

Robb smiles, but it's a wicked smile, and he pushes with his knee once more and gods, gods, Jon can't do it anymore. He gasps as he feels the first gush of warmth from his cock, and tries to stop the flow, but it's too late and there's still so much pressure on his bladder and he can't, he can't, he can't. It keeps coming and he's pissing freely now, a steady stream making its way down his legs, soaking his breeches.

Jon chokes out a half-sob, part utter embarrassment and part incredible relief. Robb stays there, still holding Jon's arms above his head, knee still pressed into his stomach, seemingly unfazed by the piss that's most likely soaking him, too. It's warm and wet and horrible, and Robb's cock only seems to grow harder against him.

When he's finally done, he shuts his eyes and prays to every god, even the ones he doesn't believe in, that he will never have to open his eyes again. Maybe if he prays hard enough the snow will swallow him whole, his namesake welcoming him back into its embrace.

Robb releases Jon's hands, and his arms fall miserably to his side. He wants to die.

"Open your eyes," Robb says gently.

Jon does. Robb isn't laughing. He still has a playful glint in his eyes, but maybe that's just the fading light reflecting in them.

"It wasn't so bad, was it?" Robb asks.

"It was humiliating," Jon says. Piss is still dripping down his legs and his cock twitches in the confines of his damp breeches. He doesn't want to look Robb in the eyes anymore. After witnessing that, he's not sure how Robb can see him as an equal.

Robb seems to read his mind. "I don't think of you any less for it," he says.

"Seem to think of me more, then," Jon jokes, referencing the hard cock that is still pressed against his body.

Robb laughs and, to Jon's surprise, blushes just the faintest bit. "Perhaps," he says teasingly.

Jon smiles. "Perhaps," he repeats.

They kick snow over the yellow on the ground and retreat to their own chambers, washing the acrid smell out of their clothing. Jon dries his over the fire in the privacy of his own room, just in case anyone is too curious to mind their own business.

And if, in the privacy of his own room, he fists his cock until he comes so hard his vision whites out, well, that's his business too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aware that bras didn't exist until, like, centuries later. Shh.... shh...
> 
> Also, this is my first time writing anything even remotely NSFW. Whoops.


End file.
